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"Shower?" Mother looked at me. "No, I--"
"Well. that's nothing. I can have it all arranged before we leave the main house and hold it there. I'm sure Whitney will help and perhaps even have it at her magnificent home."
"Are you sure?" I asked bluntly.
"Of course. Whitney is always there to help me. I don't know what I would do without my daughter. Someday, I hope you'll feel the same way. Grace."
"I do already," she said, speaking firmly and sharply for the first time.
"Yes, well, that's nice." Bunny turned back to me. "Do run your wedding gown choice by me when you think you've decided," she added, and rose. "Patricia, we have to get right on all this."
"Yes. Mrs. Eaton," she said. "It's nice to have met you," she told Mother and me. "Good hick with everything."
"Oh, it's not a matter of luck," Bunny insisted, It's a matter of good planning, logistics, timing, negotiating. Usually it's wise to have the proper time for good planning, but who can anticipate the intensity and passion with which two young people fall in love? We're just a bit pressured, but we shall endure and achieve," she vowed, sounding as dramatic as an
overthe-top high school actress. "I'll be in touch. Grace," And she walked off, talking nonstop at her assistant.
"Sounds more like she's planning a Civil War battle." Mother muttered.
We both laughed.
"Let her do it all." she said. "It gives her life some purpose. But I must confess. Willow, I do look forward to our choosing your wedding gown. It's something I never had a chance to do, but now, I'll be doing it through you."
"Okay, Mother.I'll get right on it. as Bunny would say."
.
Later that afternoon. Thatcher phoned, only he didn't ask for me. He asked to speak with Linden, who just happened to have returned from painting on the beach and was in his room.
"He wants to talk with Linden." Mother said, and called to him. "What?" he cried from his doorway,
"Thatcher Eaton would like to speak to you on the phone. dear."
"Thatcher Eaton?" He came into the kitchen, "Why does he want to talk to me?"
"I don't know. Linden." Mother said. He looked at me.
"I don't have a clue. Linden. I swear," I said, raising my right hand.
Skeptical but curious, he went to the phone.
"Hello," he said, and listened. "Me?" we heard him say after a moment. "I don't know. Why me?" Then he turned to look at me. He nodded as if he were standing in front of Thatcher. "Okay. I'll think about it.... I said I would think about it.... Right. Goodbye.... What? Yeah, she's here. He wants to talk to you now," he said, holding out the receiver.
I crossed the room and took it. Linden avoided my eyes and hurried out, not pausing to tell Mother anything. She waited.
"Thatcher?"
"Hey, how are you doing? I heard Mother met with you guys today."
"Yes, it was a summit meeting. We planned the Battle of the Bulge."
He laughed.
"She'll do a great job. Don't worry about that."
"I'm not I'm worrying she'll do too great a job. Thatcher, she's planning an event that will probably costs hundreds of thousands of dollars."
"I would expect so." he said without sounding a bit impressed.
